


you and i span the universe

by Heroine (Evoxine)



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 21:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Heroine
Summary: Isak is a med school student, his days filled with textbooks, information, and lack of sleep. Across the hall, in an apartment identical to his and yet completely different, is his new neighbour, an illustrator named Even.Time passes and they become fast friends, leaving their doors open for each other in more ways than one. It's nice, a constant comfort around Isak's heart, but it all comes to a halt when Even's door suddenly closes.Written for SKAM Big Bang 2019.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Accompanying [gif set](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/post/183270520381/you-and-i-span-the-universe-entry-for) ♡
> 
> //
> 
> They're both in their mid-twenties here!

Isak is, of course, late for class. He has twelve minutes before his class on Medical Physiology starts, yet here he is stumbling around his apartment with a slice of toast hanging out of his mouth. He’s in the middle of shoving the necessary texts into his backpack when a loud crash sounds right outside his door, the sheet of wood vibrating in its frame. Curiosity leaps right to the forefront, but Isak pushes it aside, realising that he doesn’t have the luxury of time to investigate the source of the sound.

Pulling on his shoes takes a little longer than it should have, with food in one hand and his backpack hanging off a shoulder, but Isak manages to make it out of his apartment without smacking his head on the wall.

Out in the hallway, he fumbles with the lock on his door and swivels around to find himself presented with a full-frontal view of a jean-clad ass. Its owner, hunched over a large cardboard box, lets out a grunt and rises to his full height with a tired sigh. Isak can definitely empathise – he moved into his own apartment a little over a month ago, and Eskild had filmed more videos for his Instagram story than he had helped.

“Uh,” Isak says. Whoa, this guy is tall _and_ cute. Oh _no_ , Isak thinks.  
  
The guy glances over his shoulder, a cheerful smile spreading across his face the second he lays eyes on Isak.

“Hello! I’m Even, your new neighbour!”

A lock of hair that’s scarily the same shade as Isak’s own falls into Even’s eyes. Isak blinks, strangely aware of the weight of his keys in his hand. He’s late, they remind him. For class.

He opens his mouth and says, “I’m Isak. Would you like some help?”

 

 

 

  
Becoming a doctor has always been, and still is, Isak’s dream. But now, at three in the morning on a Tuesday night and bent over one of the fattest textbooks that Isak has ever had the luck to need, he’s starting to wonder if he should reconsider his life choices. Genetics is his worst subject and he has a huge self-study assignment due at the end of the week – god, Isak just wants to sleep for a whole month.

He realises that he’s been staring at the same diagram for the past eight minutes when someone knocks on the front door and shakes him out of his reverie.

At least he has fuzzy socks on, he thinks, sliding his way over to the door.

“Hi!” Even chirps, looking painfully awake for this hour of the day. “I noticed that your lights were still on, and I couldn't help but wonder if you had any paper towels to spare?”

“Uh,” Isak says. They’ve only been neighbours for a couple of months, their relationship one that consists of casual chats out in the hallways that sometimes continue into the elevator. They might know a few things about each other, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s really nothing. Yet somehow, it seems as though his brain has a tendency to short-circuit whenever Even is around. “...Yes?”

Even tilts his head, looking just as confused as Isak probably sounds to him.

“Come in,” Isak hurries to say. “If you want, I mean. I’m pretty sure I have some, I’ll look around.”

He turns around so fast that his socked feet skid on the tiled floor, sending him slipping backwards with his arms windmilling frantically in the air. Then something catches him under the armpits, a weight sturdy enough for Isak to rely on while his feet slide uselessly in a half-hearted attempt to keep him upright.

“Oof, you okay there?”

“I love these socks,” Isak bemoans, “but I also really hate them.”

Even laughs, a merry sound that ricochets around Isak’s insides.

“Maybe we should get you over to the carpet,” he suggests, guiding Isak over to where his socks can get a grip. He keeps a hand on Isak’s back until Isak is upright and no longer Bambi reincarnated.

The first thing Isak does is pull off his socks. It’s cold without them, but he will learn to deal with it. “Er, make yourself at home? I’ll go look for the paper towels.”

Isak drifts from the kitchen to the storeroom before finally ending up in his bathroom, where he actually finds a spare roll hidden away in one of the cabinets. He chances a brief glance at the mirror and grimaces when he sees the state of his hair and the darkness of the bags under his eyes. It’s easy to fix his hair with some water and hard tugging, but there’s nothing much he can do about the lack of sleep.

Heading back into the living room, Isak finds Even peering at his notes with a mug in his hands.

“I brought you some coffee,” Even chirps, pointing to the mug sitting next to his genetics textbook. “Looks like you could use it. Med school?” Steam curls lazily off the liquid’s surface and the scent of freshly ground coffee flits over to Isak.

“Thanks,” Isak says, a little dazed. He lets out a weak chuckle. “Yeah, med school is… well, it’s something else.”

He picks up the mug – it has several doodles wrapped around its surface, each character unique and very happy-looking.

“I drew those,” Even grins. “There’s only one mug like that in the world.”

“You printed your own doodles onto a mug?”

Even shrugs and takes a large gulp of his own coffee. “What can I say, I’m an artist.”

“Are you really? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not. It’s late, Even.”

His neighbour laughs, accepting the squished roll of paper towels that Isak holds out to him.

“Yeah, I’m actually an illustrator. Which is why I’m awake and in dire need of paper towels. I made a mess and I have a piece due in… eighteen hours.”

It seems like he should be at least as stressed as Isak feels, but Even looks as though he doesn’t have a single worry in the world.

“Good luck?” Isak offers. He sips at the coffee and is pleasantly surprised to find out that it tastes _really_ good. He’s not much of a coffee person, but he could definitely get used to this. It’s nutty, just a little sweet, and at the perfect temperature.

“Thanks!” Even says brightly. “And thanks for the paper towels! I’ll leave you to your work now – you can return the mug to me whenever.

Isak stares after Even as he lets himself out of the house, dropping back into his seat after the door clicks shut behind Even’s broad back. He didn’t realise it until after Even’s departure, but the interruption was a welcomed one, and it’s with a cloud of gloom over his head that he returns to his work.

The coffee does a wonderful job at fighting away the autumn chill – Isak doesn’t even think about his fuzzy socks at all. He passes out right when the sun starts to rise with the taste of coffee still on his tongue.

 

 

 

  
Winter is a bitch. He can’t feel his fingers, can’t feel his face, and everything seems that much farther away because snow and wind hinder his speed. So what if he has long legs if he can barely move them? And don’t even get him started on winter wear – sweaters are itchy, scarves feel like they’re strangling him, and winter boots always pinch his toes regardless of what size he buys. Okay, winter here isn’t that bad compared to some other countries, but Isak doesn’t do well with cold, alright?

Feeling rather tetchy, Isak yanks his stupidly bright yellow scarf (a gag gift from Magnus that is surprisingly warm) higher up his face and hunches down low against the wind. His parents have gotten into yet another argument and he’d had to deal with their rants all throughout class, something that Isak really hates.

At least he has a week’s break coming up. He plans to spend all that time holed up indoors, catching up on his favourite shows and scarfing down slices of greasy pizza with his boys. When he emerges out of his cocoon after that week, Isak better sees spring kicking winter’s butt.

He’s so grumpy that he doesn’t notice Even’s presence in the elevator until a hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps out of his skin.

“Oops, did I startle you?”

Isak spits out the wool in his mouth and fumbles with his own apology. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I was a little distracted.”

The elevator dings and they step out onto their floor. Their apartments are the only two units to the left of the elevators – Isak doesn’t know about Even, but the relative privacy was a huge selling point in his decision to move here.

“You do seem quite stressed,” Even observes, hefting a huge canvas bag out of the elevator, something that Isak also failed to notice despite its size.

“Stressed is an understatement,” Isak mutters under his breath, digging around in his pocket for his keys. Behind him, Even does the same.

When he finally gets his door open, the first thing Isak sees is the pile of textbooks on his tiny dining table. He’d been looking forward to getting home and flopping down onto the couch with a pint of ice cream, but the sight of all those books easily knocks that urge right out of the park.

“Isak? You okay?”

“I need a break from life,” Isak declares, slumping against his doorframe.

“Wanna come in? I have some –” Even drops his voice and glances down the hallway, “– _weed brownies_ that I made but can’t eat. You can have them all. Just, you know, not in one sitting.”

Now that sounds highly appealing. Isak throws his backpack into his apartment, shuts the door, and follows Even into his place. The only time he’d been inside Even’s apartment was on the day he helped him move his boxes in. He has caught glimpses, of course, but he doesn’t know how Even ended up designing the place. The first thing he notices when he steps foot into Even’s apartment is how _bright_ everything is.

There are pastel yellow curtains framing the windows, pots and pots of paints stacked up against a wall covered with Even’s doodles, and various brightly coloured paintings hung up along the cramped hallways. Isak finds himself leaning over the paint pots in an attempt to look at the doodles.

“You seem to like my doodling.”

Isak can hear the grin in Even’s voice as clear as day.

“They’re good,” Isak admits, thumbing at a crease on one of the papers. “They’ve got character and sass. You must have a lot of ideas always floating about in your head.”

He turns around just in time to see Even heft a huge canvas onto its easel.

“Oh, I do.” Even straightens the canvas and sets his hands on narrow hips. “It can get a little messy in there, actually.”

Stepping around the table, Isak gets a good look at the canvas.

Only the bare bones of the piece are on the canvas, roughly sketched outlines and a base layer of paint. It’s not hard for Isak to figure out what he’s looking at though – it’s a quiet nature landscape, complete with a body of water, a large piece of sky, and plenty of fauna and flora.

“What’s this for?”

“I’m expanding my portfolio,” Even answers as he putters around the kitchen – everything in the sink seems to be art supplies. “I’m not a big fan of painting landscapes, but it’s good to be able to show potential employers that I’m able to do it. Oh, before I forget, would you like something to drink?”

Coincidentally, the question leaves Even’s mouth at the same time Isak’s eyes land on the coffee machine.

As the sun sinks into the horizon, Isak finds himself perched on Even’s lumpy, yet somehow still comfortable, couch with a mug of freshly brewed coffee in one hand and a weed brownie in the other. He learns that Even worked at a café while he was in high school, which was where and when he picked up his love for brewed coffee. Now, the man refuses to start his day without a cup, and instant coffee will never cut it.

He watches Even collect a bunch of paint pots from his stash and set them on the portable table next to the easel. “So what exactly do you do as an illustrator?”

“I work for a small animated film company,” Even tells him, nudging one of the windows open. “I grew up wanting to be a filmmaker, but over time I realised that I wasn’t cut out for the job. There are too many stages involved in producing a film, and I know I lack the focus at times to be able to handle them all. But I love film, so I thought I’d combine my passion with what I’m good at!”

Isak drinks it all in – the info and the coffee. The weed hits after a while, enough for him to feel mellow and pleasant, but not enough to completely render him useless. As he drifts away to his happy place, Even gets on with work.

A couple of hours later and the high starts to fade. Isak doesn’t feel bad though, for watching Even paint is an immersive experience in itself.

“Hey, want some cheese toasties?” Even sets down his paintbrush and springs to his feet, looking much too excited over some simple cheese toasties.

But Isak finds himself agreeing, and that’s how he gets a stack of cheese toasties to go with a second cup of coffee. It’s honestly a little disconcerting because he can never imagine himself in a situation like this with anyone else in his life, but it’s also oddly enjoyable. Even is incredibly easy to get along with, and it really doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous from head to toe.

Isak doesn’t have the luxury to even think about dating at this point in his life, but there’s nothing wrong with appreciating what the world has to offer, is there?

They fall into easy conversation, Isak moving from the couch onto one of the chairs by the dining table just so he can have a better viewpoint to watch Even paint. At some point, he notices a few bottles of medication sitting on a counter to his left, but he doesn’t ask Even what they’re for. It’s simply not his place; Even will tell him in his own time if he so wishes.

Isak eats enough cheese toasties to last him through tomorrow and somehow manages to get paint all over his own hands. It’s almost midnight by the time he lets out a yawn – it dawns on him that for the entire time he was with Even, he didn’t think about his parents’ argument or studying for a single second.

For those blissful hours, not a single muscle in his body held any tension and it felt _wonderful_. But all good things must come to an end. Isak rises to his feet with a heavy sigh, rubbing absently at a smudge of forest green paint on his palm.

“I should head back home soon,” he says, bringing the used dishes over to the sink. He starts to wash them, and it’s only when he’s halfway through them does he realise that it’s an excuse to stay for a few extra minutes.

“It is quite late,” Even agrees, swirling his brush around in a blob of paint. “I should probably stop, actually. Gotta get up early tomorrow for a project meeting.”

“And I have to get up early to catch up on today’s class.” Grimacing to himself, Isak rinses off the last plate and sets it on the rack to dry. “Thanks for having me over. I had a really nice time.”

Even twists around in his seat and smiles brightly at him. “Yeah? That’s great to hear, I was hoping you would unwind somewhat.”

“I did,” Isak assures him. “Maybe I can return the favour someday.”

At the door, Even bids him goodbye with a friendly clap to the shoulder and waits until Isak has a foot in his own apartment before closing his door. As Isak turns to shut his own door, he pauses with a hand on the knob and stares at the shiny ‘12’ across the narrow hall. Warmth settles somewhere in the pit of his belly and he closes the door with a smile.

 

 

 

  
It’s finally summer and it’s finally summer break. Isak isn’t completely free, not with the part-time job he’d managed to snag at his school’s lab, but three out of seven days of _no responsibilities!!!_ for two whole months is more than good enough for him.

On his first day of freedom, he wakes up at two in the afternoon and stretches luxuriously for several long seconds. Then he shuffles into his bathroom and takes his time with brushing his teeth – god, not having to speed through his morning routine feels so gloriously wonderful that he could cry happy tears.

He’s in the middle of scarfing down a huge bowl of cereal with someone knocks on his door.

“Hey! Here, I doodled something and it turned out to be you. This might turn out to be a regular thing.”

A folded piece of notebook paper is thrust into Isak’s face, and Isak unfolds it to see a doodle of a figure that actually does look like him, spilled across a couch with an oversized brownie in his hands.

“That’s me,” Isak confirms. “High on weed. Thanks.”

Even laughs. “So, are you enjoying your summer break?” He grins down at Isak, slumping against the doorframe casually. He looks like the embodiment of _summer fresh_ , simply dressed in a fitted cotton tee and jeans and topped off with a head of perfectly styled hair. Ever since that first time Isak spent the half a day at Even’s, they had started hanging out more, Isak even introducing Even to Jonas when he dropped by over a weekend.

“It’s amazing,” Isak tells him, slurping down another spoonful. He sets the doodle down on the countertop, tucking the edge beneath an empty cup that he uses as a makeshift paperweight. “I feel like a whole new person. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to an animal shelter?”

Isak doesn’t even need to take a minute to consider the offer. “Yeah, let me just finish my break – my lunch, ha! –, then we can go.”

The walk to the bus stop is a leisurely one, a far cry from the mad sprint that Isak had gotten used to over the months. Summer curls around his shoulders and down his neck, and if there are warm tendrils wrapping around his insides, Isak pretends not to notice.

“So why are we going to an animal shelter?”

Even bounces on the balls of his feet, azure eyes as bright as the sun. “I’m going to adopt a cat!”

A bus trundles around the corner and Even sticks out his hand with a flourish. They board, squeezing through a crowd of people until they find a spot where they can stand without being squished on all fronts. There’s a pole digging painfully into his side, but it saves Isak from toppling over onto Even on many occasions, so he supposes that the discomfort is worth the potential embarrassment.

“A cat? Why a cat?”

Even leans close to him and blinks owlishly, the sweep of his eyelashes breathtaking.

“Don’t you think I’m a cat person?”

“You seem like a dog person to me, actually.” Even’s face is so close that if Isak ever wore his snapbacks properly, Even’s forehead would definitely brush the brim. It feels as though there’s cotton in Isak’s mouth.

A contemplative hum vibrates in the air between their faces.

“I guess we shall see,” Even declares. “If I’m chosen by a dog, I’ll adopt a dog. If it’s a cat, I’ll adopt a cat. Good plan?”

Isak stares at the happy crinkles around Even’s eyes and nods, stupefied.

As it turns out, Even adopts a gentle, five-year-old labrador who goes by the name Maisie.

“Told you,” Isak says, ignoring the stupidly gigantic bubble of warmth trapped somewhere in his intestines as he watches Even fit a collar around Maisie’s neck and receive a lick on his hand as thanks. Her tail hasn’t stopped wagging since Even first petted her – Isak’s pretty sure that he had the luxury to witness a rare example of the phenomenon known as falling in love at first sight.

He might already have several blurry photos of Even and Maisie saved in his phone, not that he’ll ever admit it to anyone.

Even laughs and scratches her behind the ears. “It seems as though I’ll have to listen to you from now on, huh?” Switching his attention back to the lab, Even chucks her under the chin and asks, “Hey, sweet girl, wanna go for a walk?”

Her tail swings a little harder in response.

That’s how Isak finds him strolling down the street with a large cup of iced coffee in his hands, Maisie safe between them as they look for a pet store. Even needs to pick up some supplies, Maisie needs to get used to Even, and Isak… well, he’s really just along for the ride.

At the pet store, Isak offers to wait outside with Maisie while Even ducks inside to get what he needs. With her leash in hand, Isak squats down and rubs at her flank.

“You excited to see your new home? I know Even’s super excited to have you. You’ll just be across the hall from me, so we’re probably gonna see each other a lot, huh?”

Warm, brown eyes gaze back at him, and for a brief second or two, Isak thinks that Maisie understands everything he’s saying. She bumps Isak’s hand with her nose before settling down on the ground, resting her head on her front paws.

Isak peers into the store and sees Even standing in front of a shelf, a frown on his face as he debates between the varieties of kibble. He already has a gigantic dog bed in his hands, and from what Isak can see, a couple bottles of shampoo and conditioner, along with more than a few toys, stuffed into the basket by his feet.

He’ll be a good owner, Isak decides, looking down at Maisie. She would be loved and –

Wait a second. Can Maisie even fit into the shower in Even’s home? Isak himself barely has enough room to turn around in his own shower. Huh, that might prove to be a slight problem.

 

 

 

  
“I’m coming I’m _coming_ , holy shit –” Isak, bleary-eyed, nearly collides into the wall when he turns a corner and skids on the hem of his too-long pyjama pants.

Jerking the door open, he comes face-to-face with his boys: Mahdi has two six-packs in his hands, Jonas has what Isak assumes is a bag full of junk food, and Magnus has a brand new hairstyle.

“The fuck is up with your hair?” Isak asks, stepping back to let them in. The door swings shut behind them, and Isak shuffles over to the bathroom, rubbing furiously at his eye. He can hear his friends making themselves at home over the rush of water as he brushes his teeth and he’s pretty sure that crash is Magnus walking into his kitchen cabinet.

Spitting out his toothpaste, Isak takes a quick piss and splashes water over his face before making his way back to his friends. He’s a little more awake now, but he’ll need another half hour or so to be fully functioning.

“God, why are you guys here so early,” Isak grumbles, grabbing his favourite cereal off the shelf and pouring himself a huge bowl.

“It’s nearly one in the afternoon, Isak.” Jonas yanks a controller out of Magnus’ hands and gestures for Mahdi to turn the PS4 on.

“Shit, really?” He’d gotten home late last night, having stayed back in the lab to help a fellow student finish up some tests, and insomnia had dragged sleep away from him until the sun was minutes away from rising.

Magnus thrusts a hand into his cereal box and scoops up a handful that he eats dry. Spoon halfway to his mouth, Isak blinks at his friend and asks, “Seriously, what’s with your hair?”

“What, you don’t like it?” Magnus smoothes a hand down his (very) sleek strands and raises his eyebrows. It seems as though Magnus had managed to slick every single strand back with the help of a bucket of hair gel.

“You just look oily, dude.”

Magnus’ affronted response is interrupted by Isak’s wide yawn.

“Shit, I need coffee. Be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Even’s,” Isak answers, stuffing his feet into a pair of slippers. “Coffee machine.”

With that, he opens his door and walks the eight steps over to Even’s. Praying with all his might that Even’s home, he knocks and waits.

“Hi!” Even greets him even before the door is fully opened. He’s got a shoe in hand and a backpack in the other. “Caught me just in time! I was about to head out. What’s up?”

“Please let me use your coffee machine,” Isak pleads. He hears the soft pad of paws against the tiled floor and cranes his neck to see Maisie trotting up curiously behind Even. At the sight of Isak, she perks up and her tail starts to wag. “Hi, sweetie.”

“I swear she likes you more than she likes me,” Even laughs, pulling on his shoe and squeezing past Isak. “Go ahead and use the machine. There’s a spare set of keys on the counter over there, just use that to lock up when you’re done! I’m late for a meeting, so I’ll catch you later, yeah? Bye, Maisie!”

Isak barely manages to return the farewell before Even disappears around the corner.

“Come on,” he says, bending to give Maisie a scratch. “Time to get me some coffee.”

It had taken him a few tries to finally get the hang of the coffee machine, but it was time well spent, because now he’s able to drop by whenever Even’s home if he wants a cup. While the coffee brews, Isak looks around absently and notes that there’s something new up on the easel. It’s a large sketchbook, and there’s a rough sketch of a body filling a page. Lean musculature, a tall figure, a messy head of hair.

Maisie trots over to her bed, tucked away in a nook by a spot near the window that always has sunlight pouring through, and settles down. The aroma of fresh coffee beans fill the apartment as liquid energy trickles into one of Even’s mugs and Isak fills up Maisie’s water bowl. If he gets a drink, so should she!

“Dude.”

Isak shrieks and upends the water bowl all over himself, cool water soaking right through the fabric of his shirt.

“What the fuck, Jonas, how long have you been standing there like a creep?”

“Long enough to see that you know this place like it’s your second home?”

Grabbing a dishcloth, Isak presses it over the wet patch on his shirt and lets it soak up the water. He refills Maisie’s bowl and sets it back down by her, giving her a pet as he stands.

“I only come in like this for the coffee, alright? He has good beans and this machine turns them into something magical.”

Jonas coughs in disbelief.

“We hang out a fair amount,” Isak says. “Maisie likes me more. Bye, Maisie. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Her tail wags, but she doesn’t stand as Isak grabs his mug of coffee along with the spare keys and shepherds Jonas towards the door.

“You even have a key?!”

“It’s his spare set! This is the first time I’m using it!”

The lock clicks shut behind them, but Jonas doesn’t stop pressing.

“Isn’t he _exactly_ your type?”

They’re back in Isak's living room, the other two glancing away from the TV screen at the question.

“Who’s Isak’s type?” Magnus asks.

“His neighbour, Even.”

“I don’t have a type,” Isak insists, sipping at his coffee. God, that’s yummy and just what he needs. His cereal is soggy by now, but he shovels a spoonful into his mouth and swallows it after a couple of chews.

“Have you forgotten the fact that I have seen the guy? He’s attractive, got that nice sex hair you like, and he’s tall. Taller than _you_.”

“So? That’s a very general description,” Isak points out, pointing at Jonas with his spoon. Mahdi, eyes still fixated on the screen as his fingers fly all over the buttons on the controller, snorts derisively.

“Is he funny?”

Isak pauses. “No comment.”

“So he’s funny,” Magnus says helpfully.

“Bro, you can’t deny that that _is_ your type,” Mahdi says. Jonas and Magnus voice their agreement.

Sighing, Isak resists the urge to roll his eyes and turns his back to his friends, choosing to focus on finishing his cereal and enjoying his cup of coffee. So what if Even’s technically his type? They don’t talk about their love lives with each other – he doesn’t know if Even is single, much less if he’s interested in men.

His gaze lands on Even’s spare set of keys before travelling to the doodle Even had given him. He’d pinned it up on his lopsided cork board that hangs on the one wall visible from every room in the house.

Okay, fine. Isak could totally fall for the guy, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to! He’ll be starting his clerkship in a few months – if he thinks his workload now is a bitch, he can’t even begin to fathom how hectic life will get when his clerkship begins. Having the time to date? What a joke.

 

 

 

  
It’s so bloody _hot_. The central air conditioner in this building is a joke, so Isak resorts to flinging all his windows open in hopes that some sort of breeze will blow through. He’s got a standing fan in his living room, kitchen, and bedroom, as well as a portable USB one that he keeps plugged into his laptop 24/7.

He’s chugging iced water like it’s cheap beer at a frat party, but sweat still slides down the sides of his face and down the curve of his neck. Sick of dealing with shirts clinging to clammy skin, Isak had long since forgone wearing them at home. He’s debating spending half the day in the tub when someone knocks on his door.

“It’s so hot,” Even says the moment Isak opens the door. “I’m dying.” The man’s usually voluminous hair is plastered to his head, and it says something about Isak that he thinks it’s cute.

“I know,” Isak groans, swiping at the sweat on his forehead. “I’m thinking about buying three bags of ice and sitting in an ice bath. Wanna join?”

Even laughs and gestures to him. “Step out. It’s much cooler in the hallway.”

So Isak does, and hey, it actually is a lot cooler out here.

“Why does the AC in the hallway work better than the ones in our apartments? They’re supposed to be the same.”

With a casual shrug of the shoulders, Even turns around and walks over to a chair he’d placed against the wall by his door. His easel sits off to the side, a canvas propped up on it. “I don’t know, but I _do_ know I’ll be sitting out here during the day unless I really need to be inside.”

Maisie comes slinking out of Even’s apartment and settles right by his feet, tongue out and chest heaving. Poor girl, at least humans can take their clothes off when they get too warm.

“That’s an idea I could get behind. Be right back,” Isak says, and ducks back inside to grab a chair and papers containing the notes he’s been working on. He also fills a bowl with ice cubes for Maisie – she looks like she could use some.

Isak gets a lick to his hand in thanks when he sets the bowl down, Maisie immediately slurping up the droplets of water already starting to form on the cubes.

When he sets up his chair and has his papers piled somewhat haphazardly on his lap, Isak glances up and sees Even smiling at him.

“Thanks,” he says, nodding at the happy dog by his feet. “You treat her really well.”

The flush that creeps up the back of Isak’s neck has nothing to do with the heat. “Oh, it's nothing, really. I just have a lot of ice,” he explains lamely. Even’s smile just grows a little wider.

Flustered, Isak clears his throat and refocuses his attention onto his notes, pulling the cap off a highlighter with his teeth. For a while, they work on their respective tasks, filling the hallway with sounds of Isak’s highlighter dragging across papers and Even’s paintbrush spreading colours across the canvas.

Turns out, Isak works infinitely better out here, hunched over his own lap with Maisie’s panting loud and steady. He’s no longer sweating buckets – he’s still sweating, but a bearable amount – and he can finally breathe without feeling like his lungs are about to clog up with moisture. If Even’s presence helps, well, Isak supposes that that’s alright too.

They work until their spines creak and crack with every movement, shoulders and necks stiff with tension. It isn’t until the sun has set that Isak finally takes a break, eyes bloodshot and skin clammy, his papers filled with streaks of bright green.

Across the hall, Even is still painting away, his palette swimming with colours from where it’s resting. The man has a wide range of colours smeared across his skin, a few dabs on his jaw, a couple on the bridge of his nose, and streaks up his forearms. It should look comical, but it just makes Even look like a work of art himself.

It takes a while for Isak to realise that he’s staring, but thankfully, Even seems to be too focused on his art to notice.

“Do you, uh, want some dinner? I could order some pizza. You probably need the food for your meds, right?”

Isak drops his stack of papers down onto the ground and his highlighter on top of it, left knee popping obnoxiously when he stands. Wow okay, his joints feel like they’re in the body of a fifty-year-old.

“Pizza?” Even perks up at the word, turning around to look excitedly at Isak with his paintbrush hovering in the air. “Yeah, I could do with a Meat Lovers. I can put together a quick salad just to balance it out. Damn, didn’t realise it’s almost seven. Time flew by, huh?”

Maisie is taking advantage of the cooler temperature – now that the sun is disappearing under the horizon – and grabbing a much-needed nap, paws folded neatly underneath her muzzle.

“I really have you to thank for that,” Isak says, shaking out his sleeping left foot. “If it wasn’t for you, I would not be working out here. I would be a dehydrated lump of misery in there, melting all over my research. The back and neck pains are more than worth it.”

Even finally sets his paintbrush down and cracks the knuckles of both hands in perfect synchrony. “You are most welcome. Having you around really helped move things along, actually. It’s funny because usually, I do better working alone.”

A little unsure of how to respond to that, Isak just mumbles something about going back into his apartment for delivery menus and promptly escapes. He manages to unearth a menu from one of his many cluttered drawers, putting in an order for a medium Meat Lovers and a medium cheese with a cheese-stuffed crust. That done, he tracks down a clean shirt and freshens up a little in the bathroom – he feels a little… crusty after so many hours out in the hallway with his pores secreting sweat at a steady rate.

When he ventures back out into the hallway, he sees Even in the middle of cleaning up. A bunch of paint brushes are placed into an empty IKEA plastic cup, the inside looking remarkably like a rainbow has thrown up in it.

“So what do you think?” Even asks, gesturing to the canvas. “It’s supposed to be a realism piece.”

Isak steps around to get a better look at the art piece, careful not to accidentally jostle Maisie as he does so. What he sees has his jaw dropping.

“If I didn’t know that that’s a painting, I would’ve thought it was a photograph. It’s really good, Even.”

Rising to his feet, Even gives his neck a few rolls and digs into his pockets for a cigarette.

“Yeah? Thanks. I’ve always been more comfortable with digital art, but I’ve been thinking about maybe creating enough pieces for my own show? I dunno, sounds like a stretch, but it’s possible, right?”

Isak watches as Even shakes a cigarette out of the pack and places it between plush lips.

“Definitely possible,” Isak agrees, then reaches out to pluck the lighter out of Even’s hand. “I’m a med school student. I feel like it’s my duty to stop you from smoking.”

It’s clear that Even didn’t expect that, but he just laughs and slides the cigarette back into its pack. “You’re right, it probably is. Actually, I’ve been cutting back – I used to smoke a lot back in high school –, but it’s hard not to smoke at least once a day.”

“Maybe I’ll hold on to this then,” Isak says, waving the lighter.

Even smiles at him, obviously amused. “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Now come on, you can sit at the table and watch as I chop up vegetables.”

It takes a couple of trips to bring everything back into Even’s apartment and Maisie wakes up just in time to trail in after them. It’s a comfortable temperature inside now, the crappy air conditioning no longer fighting a losing battle against the strength of the sun. The labrador pads over to her bed and curls up, bright eyes following Even’s figure as he puts all his paints back and dumps his supplies in the bathroom sink to be dealt with later.

Isak, not wanting to get in the way, sits at the end of the dining table. They’d left Even’s door open so that they’ll hear the delivery man when he arrives – sometimes, the doorbells get iffy. A pleasant tune, courtesy of Even’s whistling, floats through the apartment as he pulls a few fresh vegetables out of the fridge.

They make small talk as Even prepares the salad – cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, mixed greens, avocados, and even a bit of smoked salmon that he’d found. The pizzas arrive just as Even’s finishing up, and Isak darts across the hall for his wallet and his trusty bottle of red pepper flakes.

“I’m ravenous,” Isak says, dropping into his recently vacated seat and opening both boxes with a flourish. He slides Even’s pie across to him. “Why do pizzas always smell so good?”

“Damn, you’re really into those pepper flakes,” Even notes, taking his own seat and passing Isak his bowl of greens.

“So good,” Isak groans through a mouthful of melty cheese. “Want some?”

Even waves the offer aside and spears a halved cherry tomato with his fork. “I gotta be able to taste all this meat,” he says, popping the tomato into his mouth.

The first two slices are devoured in minutes. Halfway through his third, Isak gets up and runs back home, returning with two bottles of chilled root beer that Magnus had left behind in his fridge the last time they came over.

“Ah, I knew this meal was missing something,” Even says with a grin. He twists the cap off his drink with his bare hands and lifts it, head tipped back as he takes a long pull. Isak stares, quite shamelessly, at Even’s bared throat as it works.

Well, this is a whole different kind of hunger that food will not be able to satisfy.

It doesn’t take them long to finish their food, and while Even cleans up the few dishes, Isak takes care of Maisie’s dinner.

“Y’know,” Even says, “this was nice. Working together and having dinner after. We should make it a weekly thing or something.”

Isak sneaks a small treat into Maisie’s bowl and scratches the spot behind her ear that never fails to get her tail wagging. He looks over his shoulder – Even’s by the sink rinsing out a bowl, long legs crossed at the ankles as he rests his weight on the left.

“Sure,” he replies. “I’d like that.”

 

 

 

  
It takes a while for a routine to be established, the process very much hindered by their hectic schedules. Isak’s got a few more months before he has to start preparing himself – both mentally and academically – for the transition into his clerkship, while Even’s been swamped with storyboarding for a personal project: an animated short film.

After many weeks of trial-and-error, they settle for Saturday evenings. A part of Isak feels as though they’re _date nights_ , but he is highly aware of how ridiculous that sounds, so he shoves the thought away and settles for enjoying good food with good company. As summer slowly fades to autumn and the heat is no longer set to a level called ‘Hell’, they move from the hall into either of their apartments.

Tonight, they’re in Isak’s. Even has his art supplies spread out all over Isak’s kitchen table while Isak himself is sprawled out on the rug, propped up on his elbows as he goes through his neurobiology notes. They’ve got half-eaten boxes of kebabs lying about and Maisie is curiously nosing at one from her perch on the couch.

“Are you good at ice skating?” Even asks, completely out of the blue. Isak hears a graphite pencil scratching away on paper.

“I’m good enough to stay upright,” Isak says. He twists around and sees that Even has apparently abandoned his tablet in favour of his sketchpad. There’s an ashy smudge on his cheek and Isak really wants to clean it off. “Why’re you asking?”

“Sketched you,” Even grins, looking at him through his bangs. “On ice. Should’ve asked if you skated before I started sketching, but –” With a shrug, Even carefully tears the page out of his book and waves it at Isak. “Here you go. I needed a break from staring at my laptop screen, so thanks for being my muse!”

Isak scrambles off the floor and accepts the sketch – Even really drew him as a skater, and there’s an unpolished touch of ethereal beauty to the piece that makes Isak want to strap on a pair of skates.

“You made me look ten times more graceful than I am in person,” Isak tells him. He walks around the table towards his corkboard and finds a pin. In the year or so that they’ve been neighbours, Isak’s corkboard has slowly and steadily changed from a ‘general purpose board’ to a ‘sketches from Even’ board. There are more than a few drawings of Maisie, a couple of them together drawn in the style of comics, but most are simple sketches of Isak himself. He’s running out of space, but that really just means he has to get another corkboard.

(Yes, whenever the boys come over, Jonas never fails to mention The Board.)

“Everyone’s graceful one way or another,” Even says, spinning around on his seat and watching as Isak pins the sketch next to a stick figure of himself.

Isak snorts. “I think I’ve tripped at least a dozen times in front of you.”

“You trip gracefully,” Even says, and Isak hears the laughter in his voice.

They return to work, but barely twenty minutes later, Isak hears the creak of a chair and a heavy sigh.

“Something wrong?” He scribbles down a couple of notes but keeps his ears trained in Even’s direction. “Artist’s block?”

A contemplative hum, then Even’s saying, “No, nothing like that. A friend of mine set me up for a date tomorrow with one of his friends that I’ve met a couple of times in passing and I don’t know if I want to go. I’ve been on the fence about it for the past week and it’s honestly driving me a little insane.”

The tip of Isak’s pen presses so hard into the page that ink bleeds through.

He clears his throat and stares at the ink slowly blooming into a larger blot. “Why don’t you want to go? Don’t wanna date right now?”

“Not exactly,” Even answers. There’s a beat of silence and Isak looks over his shoulder to see Even squinting at the screen of his laptop. “Sorry, had to fix something. But yeah, I’m open to dating, just… I don’t know, not with her?”

With who?

“You’re interested in someone else?”

“You could say that.”

Even doesn’t look at him, brows furrowed in concentration as the stylus in his hand flies across the surface of his tablet.

“...So why did you agree to go on the date?”

“Don’t know, really. I guess a part of me is curious to see where it would go?”

Isak sits up, abandoning his notes and pen. The inkblot stops growing in size.

“Why don’t you just go after the person you’re interested in? Doesn’t that make more sense?”

At that, Even finally glances up at him. A chill slithers down the length of Isak’s spine at the first glimpse of that shocking blue. “He’s hard to read. It’s stressful, really, thinking about him. There are too many unknowns and I tend to overthink if there are too many unknowns.”

Somehow, Isak manages to think through the alarms blaring in his brain, the ones busy screaming he’s interested in men too!!!!!!!!!!!! and responds with a slightly uncertain: “So you’re giving up on him?”

“Not exactly,” Even repeats, gaze still trained on Isak’s face. He twirls the stylus between lithe fingers and the effortless movement steals Isak’s attention for a brief moment. “Hm, I guess you could say that I’m giving myself more options.”

“That sounds like you’ve made up your mind to go on the date.”

Even raises his eyebrows, a vague smile playing across his lips. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

 

 

 

  
The week is an insanely busy one, leaving Isak without much time to think about eating, much less about Even’s upcoming blind date. Unsurprisingly, he ends up cancelling on their Saturday dinner, sending a text to Even that says _gotta stay back at school tonight, sorry :(((((((( give maisie an ear scratch from me!_

Over the course of a dozen days, Isak doesn’t see Even at all. On some days, he stays back at school to help several friends go through a ton of material, coming home past midnight and collapsing right into bed after a quick shower. On other days, Even is the one who comes home late, texting Isak and asking if he could please take Maisie out for her walk. Sometimes, when Isak pops into Even’s apartment for a cup of coffee in the morning – Even had told him to hold onto the spare set for this very purpose –, he sees that Even has already left for work.

It’s Friday night, and Isak finally has the time to curl up on his couch with a bag of chips and Netflix on the television. He’s frowning at the screen, remote in hand as he scrolls through the available movies, when a thud on his door startles him.

He nearly trips over a pile of old textbooks when he scrambles to get to the door, toes jamming against the spine of the thickest one and wrenching a yelp of pain out of Isak’s throat. Another thud sounds against his door.

Isak hobbles over and pulls the door open to see… Maisie sitting right in front of him, tail curled around her legs and the tip of her tongue hanging out as she pants excitedly. Confused, Isak blinks down at her.

“Maisie?”

Did _she_ knock?

“She wanted to see you.”

Isak looks up and sees Even leaning against his doorframe, a windbreaker hanging off his shoulders and a beanie snug around his ears. Judging by the lack of light in the apartment, Isak concludes that he had just come home.

“Aw,” Isak coos. He crouches down, ignoring the throbbing of his toes, and curls an arm around Maisie’s neck. “It’s only been three days since I last saw you and you miss me this much?”

He gets a sloppy lick to his cheek for that, Maisie’s tail thumping against the surface of the floor as she basks in his attention.

“Sorry I had to cancel last week,” Isak adds, running a hand down Maisie’s back. Even shakes his head, mouth opening to reply, but a movement behind him suddenly interrupts.

Isak’s first instinct is to yell – there’s someone lurking in Even’s apartment and that someone must be an intruder! The shout is already bubbling up in his throat, but just as he’s about to open his mouth, Even reaches behind him and pulls the person forward into the light of the hallway.

It’s a woman. A pretty one too, with smooth skin, voluminous dirty blonde hair that curls around slim shoulders, and huge eyes. It takes an embarrassing amount of time for it to dawn on Isak – in fact, it isn’t until Even slings a casual arm around those shoulders that the truth of the situation really clicks.

“Isak, meet Irena. She’s the date I told you about.”

“Hi,” Irena says with a too-bright smile. “Even talks about you all the time – you’ve come up at least once every time we met! Nice to finally meet you and put a face to the name.”

All Isak can think about is the fact that they’ve been on multiple dates since the last time he really spoke to Even. For someone who wasn’t really sure about going on the date in the first place, Even sure seems to be moving fast.

And can someone tell Isak exactly why he’s feeling so… agitated?

“Hey,” Isak finally replies, rising up to his full height with one last pet to the top of Maisie’s head. “You too.”

Irena’s smile widens and she turns to plant a kiss on Even’s cheek. “Well, I’m gonna go take a shower. See you in a bit?” When Even nods, she waves goodbye to Isak and disappears back into the shadows. A few moments later, a light is switched on.

“I see the date went well.” Isak wonders if his tone sounds as clipped as it feels. He glances away from Even and back down at Maisie – she gazes up at him, warm and loving and Isak feels a little bit better.

“Well enough,” Even agrees. He doesn’t elaborate and Isak doesn’t prompt him to.

“Good to hear.” He blows a kiss to Maisie and clears his throat. “I’m gonna head back in now. Got work to do and stuff. Thanks for letting Maisie come say hi.”

With that, he bids Even a hasty goodbye and retreats into his apartment. As soon as the door shuts, Isak lets out a shaky breath. He has a hand pressed against the frame, heart rattling in his chest and sending blood rushing through his ears. Through it, he hears the faint click of Maisie’s nails against the floor as she heads back home, followed by the snap of Even’s door closing.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “ _Fuck_.”

He returns to the living room and digs up his phone from where it was lying behind a pile of pillows. As always, his text window with Jonas is at the top of the list.

_i think i like even_

_took u long enough to figure it out, holy shit_

Isak scowls at his screen – that isn’t fucking helpful, Jonas!

_yeah, i figured it out after he went and got himself a girlfriend_

_oh shit… i’m sorry dude_

Sighing, Isak tosses his phone back into the pillows and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. How is it possible that it’s taken him this long to come to terms with his feelings? His back collides with a wall, forcing a long, frustrated groan out of his lungs as he sinks down to the floor.

A dull thud rings through his ears when the back of his head kisses the wall, eyes cast upwards where his gaze lands on, of all things, the corkboard. All of Even’s artworks hit him at once, from the stick figures drawn on the back of café receipts to the extremely detailed pencilled drawing of his profile that he had (sort of) posed for.

Isak has always liked the quality of logic. His affinity with science is largely based on the fact that everything has a sound explanation and nothing is accepted without one. He hates grey areas, preferring things to be in black and white, but he has learned over the course of his life that things can’t always go the way he wants them to.

It must have happened at some point during the early hours, hundreds of them accumulated through the length of time that they’ve known each other, where light is speckled with rust from the emerging sun and Isak’s head is lead-heavy from all the studying and lack of sleep. Isak is weakest then, his mind open to accepting things that he usually would not – perhaps romantic affection for a certain neighbour is among them.

Isak guesses that most people in Even’s life have, at one point or another, fallen in love with him. It’s his brain speaking – _logic_ speaking –, and it makes sense to Isak because Even is the embodiment of everything that the average person loves. He is the soft stream of sunlight that precedes the perfect Sunday morning, the beat of that particular song that never fails to get people up and dancing, the texture of crisp, old pages in long-forgotten tomes. Top that all off with a smile that lights up brilliant eyes? Well, it doesn’t take long for Isak to conclude that yes, he is indeed quite in love with his neighbour.

He was never lying to himself, exactly. Spending time with Even is something he genuinely enjoys and he will willingly admit as much – even to the monkeys that he calls his best friends. He will even admit that he thinks Even is gorgeous, kind, hilarious – and yes,  _most definitely_ his type.

But Isak’s brain, when it isn’t exhausted and muddled up, just doesn’t consider romance to be something that deserves its attention. He hasn’t dated anyone since freshman year of university and he’s almost a year and a half into med school. So yeah, it’s been a while, but it has never been an issue. No one in Isak’s life had the ability to make his lack of a love life an issue – not until Even.

Even is an outlier and Isak doesn’t like outliers. They don’t make sense, aren’t the norm, and Isak always chooses to disregard them. Yet, the idea of giving up on Even causes a bitter taste to rise up in his mouth, stomach seizing in displeasure.

Alas, it seems that the only thing he can do now is accept the outcome of things. He can’t blame anyone else but himself, too busy with med school and too neglectful of his love life to see the glaringly obvious truth.

But that doesn't mean he must like it.

Irena seems nice enough, if thirty seconds worth of half-hearted interaction is enough to go by. Isak doesn’t know if the sudden flare of animosity deep inside his chest is fueled by jealousy or something else, but he knows that _something_ about her has his skin crawling. It happened right when she smiled at him, all teeth and no eyes, and the tiny hairs on the back of Isak’s neck instantly rose to attention.

Isak doesn’t usually go with his gut, though. He can’t prove its effectiveness nor accuracy, which by extension makes it unreliable. But perhaps he can put it through a test, one that can only be judged by time.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a little disconcerting, the fact that Isak never really noticed how much their lives have intertwined.

He used to pop in and out of Even’s apartment unannounced, for the coffee machine, Maisie, or anything else he needed but didn’t have at home. Once, he was in the middle of baking Mahdi a birthday cake and realised he had no salt, but Even’s kitchen came in clutch with its collection of four different types.

Even has a set of keys to his place as well – a fact that Isak pointedly keeps secret from his friends –, and sometimes Isak will come home to see Even set up in his living room, making full use of the natural light that his unit gets in order to work on his art.

Isak knows Even’s apartment almost as well as he knows his own. There’s a loose floorboard in the hallway, the doorknob on the bathroom door only unsticks if it’s jiggled at a particular angle, and one of the chairs at the dining table requires exceptional balance to sit on. The bedroom, however, remains a grey area, Isak having only entered a few times to borrow or return clothes. But it was always open to him, if he ever wanted to enter for whatever reason there may be.

Now, that’s no longer the case.

It’s been a couple of months since Irena appeared in his life and a little less than a couple of months since he last stepped foot into Even’s apartment. He’d gone in to return a hoodie and spend some time with Maisie, but Irena appeared just as he was about to leave.

“Why are you here?”

A muscle in Isak’s face twitched. He fought the instinctive urge to sneer.

“To check in on Maisie.”

Irena tossed an uninterested glance at the dog. “How’d you get in?”

“I have a spare set of keys.”

Something flashed in her eyes. She was just about to say something, words clearly on the tip of her tongue when Even turned the corner and announced his presence with a sneeze. Isak took the opportunity to slip by, giving Even a small smile before darting back into his apartment and locking the door behind him.

Isak stopped going over after that day.

They still talk, mostly casual greetings through text and whenever they bump into each other in the elevator. If by some miracle, their doors are both open at the same time, Maisie will run over and curl up on Isak’s couch, refusing to leave until Isak sits and spends some time with her. Irena is always around and Isak just knows that all of Even’s free time is spent on her.

Is he bitter? Perhaps. But he doesn’t blame Even. He can tell from the way Even looks at him that he’s unhappy with the way his time has been monopolised, but Even has never been very good at dealing with confrontation. Isak knows him well enough to know that the man has a huge heart and is more than willing to give it all to his partner, even if he ends up hurt.

Isak also knows Even well enough to be scared of him getting hurt.

Earlier this year, before Maisie appeared in their lives, Isak learned something about his neighbour. Even had to stay up to finish an art piece and Isak’s insomnia refused to let him sleep, so they whiled the night away in Even’s apartment.

“Want some coffee? You look like you’ll need a cup.”

Even’s response came in the form of a grimace directed towards his canvas. “I do, but I can’t. Had my daily limit today. Any more and it might mess with my meds.”

At that, Isak’s gaze immediately darted over to where the bottles sat on the countertop.

“Okay,” Isak said. “How about some herbal tea? My mother sent over a whole box of them a few weeks ago and I have yet to make a dent in it.”

Even smiled. “Sure.”

During the time it took for Isak to find the box of tea, Even went to the bathroom and ambled across the hall to join Isak in his kitchen.

“I know it’s in here somewhere…”

“I don't know if you’ve figured it out – you know, since you’ve seen my prescriptions and you’re a med student –, but I am bipolar.”

Isak chanced a glance at Even’s face through the reflective surface of his glass cabinet. “You _have_ bipolar disorder. You are _not_ bipolar. I firmly believe that one’s affliction doesn’t define them.”

Just as Even’s lips started to curl up in a smile, his fingers brushed against the edge of the box and he pulled it out with a cry of triumph.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” he continued, setting the kettle to boil. He understands how big of a deal it is – his mother is schizophrenic, and for the longest time, he had held onto the preconceived shame of her condition. Her illness was something he ran away from, and it wasn’t until Magnus entered his life and shared with him – sounding so proud of her tenacity – that his own mother is bipolar that Isak realised there is simply no shame to be felt.

“It isn’t so much about trust as it is about thinking you should know.”

Isak selected several flavours and held them out for Even to pick. He chose a sachet of hibiscus tea.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

For a minute or so, Even considered the question and his answer to it. Isak waited patiently, eyes trained on the kettle.

“I was diagnosed in high school.” Even released a breath and leaned against the counter. “Got my heart broken by my best friend and I wasn’t able to handle it. Spiralled out of control for a bit until professionals figured out what was wrong with me and –”

The kettle beeps.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Isak said, voice soft and pitched low.

Even fell silent, watching as Isak filled half the mug with hot water and dropped the tea bag in. “I suppose you’re right.”

As the water gradually darkened in colour, Isak stood with his shoulder pressed against Even’s and wished, simply, for Even to be happy and stay happy.

Now, as the year is beginning to wrap up, Isak’s wish still hasn’t changed.

 

 

 

  
The sky is awash with shades of peach-gold and despite winter’s chill, Isak feels oddly warm. He’d just finished the last module of his pre-clerkship period, which is an important milestone for a couple of reasons: 1) somehow, he has managed to make it through a year and a half of medical school without crumpling into a heap of dust, and 2) he’ll be starting his formal clerkship right after the new year begins.

He has two weeks off, a much-needed break to recharge his constantly-drained batteries. Jonas and the boys have already invited themselves over in a couple of days, which means that Isak will be spending the next 48 hours cleaning intensively, doing ten loads of laundry, and lying limply on his bed while his TV keeps him company.

Before heading home, he stops by the nearby grocery store and picks up a few things for a quick meal – he’s been ordering so many pizzas in the recent weeks that the delivery guy knows him by name now. The wires of his earphones are cold where they brush against the skin of his jaw, and the combined effort of his snapback and hoodie have failed to keep his ears warm.

But it’s alright, because he’s a few blocks away from home, and he has plans to cook some creamy pasta and curl up with a fluffy blanket with –

A familiar bark manages to weave its way through his music. Isak stops, pulls his earphones out of his ears, and turns to see Maisie straining at the end of her leash in an effort to get to him.

“Mais–”

She woofs happily, and the next thing Isak knows, she’s bounding towards him and rearing back on her hind legs, ready to give him the biggest hug of his lifetime. Isak digs his heels into the ground just in time to catch Maisie’s full weight against his chest.

“Sorry!” At the familiar voice, Isak peers around a flopping ear to see Even jogging towards them, Maisie’s leash in hand.

By the time Even is within arm’s reach, Maisie has calmed down enough to let Even re-attach the leash to her collar.

“She smelled you before I spotted you,” Even tells him, scratching her behind the ears. “I could barely keep my arm in my socket when she bolted.”

The first thing that comes out of Isak’s mouth is, “I know how to fix a dislocated shoulder.”

Even stares at him, discombobulated, then promptly bursts out into surprised laughter.

“Yeah, Isak, I guess you do.”

Maisie settles her weight onto Isak’s feet, content in the presence of the two most important men in her life. There’s an odd pressure around Isak’s heart when he takes a few seconds to drink in the sight of Even right there in front of him.

“Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

Something akin to regret flits across Even’s face.

“I never meant to neglect you,” Even starts, but Isak shakes his head.

“Let’s talk at home. I’m starving and this is the one day in the past couple of weeks that I’ve decided to actually cook for myself. Have you had dinner yet?”

 

 

 

  
The groceries are pushed into Even’s arms as Isak hunts down the pack of baby wipes he’d bought a couple of months ago in order to clean Maisie’s paws before she enters. She waits patiently by the door, clearly aware that Isak is not a fan of muddy paw prints all over his floor.

“I’ve missed this place,” Even mumbles, voice so soft that Isak nearly misses it when he walks by.

He swallows past the tug in his gut and pulls a wipe out of the pack. The weight of Even’s gaze on him is heavy as he returns to the door, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it’s comforting.

“This place has missed you too. The both of you.”

Paws now clean, Maisie pads inside and finds a spot to settle down, big brown eyes trained on Isak and Even as they make their way into the kitchen.

The groceries are halfway through being unpacked when Even straightens from his crouched position in front of the fridge and says, “I broke up with her.”

Isak’s mind goes blank. A part of him is _ecstatic_ , but another part of him is worried. There’s a brief mental scramble for words before Isak takes a breath and asks the first and most important question.

“Are you alright?”

“I think I am. Learned a lesson, I guess. Turns out that Irena liked and wanted a very specific image of me, one that my friends have imparted on her – independent, artistic, good-spirited. She wasn’t ready for anything else that laid underneath that very first layer.”

The chopping board slips out of his hand and slaps loudly against the surface of the counter. Isak winces at the sound, but Even doesn’t seem fazed whatsoever.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through the end of a relationship,” Isak says. He busies himself with removing the outermost layer of an onion, but keeps the bulk of his attention on Even. “But she didn’t deserve you.”

A dry laugh. “She thought she deserved better.”

That has the hairs on the back of Isak’s neck rising. “That’s a lie, Even. Anyone would be lucky to have you. She was too busy chasing her idea of a perfect man and failed to notice one standing right in front of her.”

His words are met with silence and Isak starts to panic. Did he say too much? Cross a line? Maybe –

“Now that I think about it, perhaps she wasn’t the only one.”

Isak whips around to look at him, but all he gets for an explanation is an enigmatic smile and a soft crinkle of azure eyes.

“Do you need any help? I can get the sauce started.”

Without waiting for an answer, Even turns to retrieve the necessary ingredients from the fridge, leaving Isak to stare at the back of his head and wonder what the fuck Even meant.

 

 

 

  
The room is filled with the sound of Magnus’ voice as he graces his friends with yet another tale of his sexual escapades with his long-time girlfriend, Vilde. At the beginning of their friendship, it had taken a lot of willpower and mental strength for Isak to get used to such stories. Fast-forward a decade and Isak is now able to sit through twenty-eight minutes of a graphic recount about Magnus’ first pegging experience.

“Feels good, right?” Isak says knowingly, grabbing a handful of chips from the bag in Mahdi’s hand. “Definitely worth the prep, but only with the right dick, of course.”

Ah, if only Eskild, the first person Isak ever came out to, were around to hear him talk like this. He would be so proud.

Magnus leans in, interest clear in his eyes. “The right dick?”

Isak brushes crumbs off his fingers and leans back in his chair.

“Well yeah, dude. Some guys just don’t know how to fuck, how to use what they were gifted with. Mediocre sex isn’t worth a clean diet and a thorough cleaning. I like my pizzas and I would rather not cramp up while twisting around in the shower, thank you very much.”

“You say that like you do it on a regular basis. When was the last time you got laid?” Jonas asks, eyes trained on the TV screen as he controls his character. Sometimes, Isak swears his friends visit him for his gaming console and that his presence is just a bonus.

“…It’s been a while,” Isak admits. He’s simply too busy nowadays – there are nights where he doesn’t even have the energy to jerk off. Physical intimacy with another person is definitely considered wishful thinking in Isak’s book.

At his confession, Mahdi leans over Jonas’ back and fixes Isak with a pointed look. “Didn’t you say Even broke up with that chick? You gonna go for him now? You look like you need a good romp in the sheets, buddy. Those bags under your eyes are almost designer-level expensive.”

Isak throws a half-eaten, cling-wrapped, cold cut sandwich at his friend and revels in the muted thud it makes when it collides soundly with Mahdi’s temple. “They _are_ designer-level expensive, thank you very much.” He swallows a mouthful of beer and sighs. “Even… I don’t know if I should. I mean, I don’t even know how he feels about me.”

Jonas snorts, thumbs flying manically over the controller. “You could just ask.”

That’s easily one of the most ridiculous things that Isak has ever heard.

He’s just about to tell Jonas exactly that when a knock sounds, two sharp raps ringing out through the apartment. Magnus, the closest one to the door, gets up to answer it.

“Hi! Is Isak here?” Of _course_ , Isak thinks despairingly. He just _has_ to come at this particular moment. God, his friends are gonna have a field day.

“Oh my god, you must be Even,” Magnus says excitedly. Isak stifles a groan and scrambles over to the door.

With a hand on Magnus’ chest, he pushes his friend backwards and slides in front of him. Even smiles down at him, the amusement clear in his eyes, and rests a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Hey. I have some free time and I came over hoping you were dying of boredom as well, but it seems that that’s not the case.”

The noise from the living room suddenly cuts off and Isak hears Jonas and Mahdi’s footsteps approaching. Magnus is practically vibrating with excitement behind him.

“Yeah, I have a few friends over and –”

“I’m Magnus.” An arm shoots out from behind Isak and nearly smacks him in the face. “It’s _really_ nice to finally meet you.”

Even’s smile grows wider as he accepts Magnus’ proffered hand, and Isak is suddenly hit with the urge to wax poetry over the way it makes his eyes go all squinty and crinkly at the sides.

“Ah, so he talks about me, does he?”

“A fair amount,” Jonas interjects, sidling up to them. “I’m Jonas, his best friend. And that’s Mahdi.”

Isak pulls a face. “‘Best friend’ is debatable, sometimes.” He gets a punch to the arm for that, but he simply shakes the ache off. As Even trades handshakes and greetings with his friends, Isak finds himself studying the way he interacts with them.

Friendly, open, so goddamn likeable. Dinner the other night was amazing – it was as if nothing had changed, as if they hadn’t spent a couple of months out of each other’s lives. He had missed having Even around, but he didn’t realise just how much, not until Even left for the night and Isak had time and space to think.

Now, he wants to spend as much time with him as possible. Maybe he should ask –

“Hey, if you have nothing to do, you should join us,” Jonas says, tossing a knowing glance over at Isak. Isak gapes at his best friend, completely unnerved.

“Really? Wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“All we do is game and eat,” Mahdi shrugs. “Smoke weed and drink sometimes. Gossip a little.”

Magnus pokes his head out from behind Isak’s shoulder. “Yeah, it’s a routine we’ve gotten too used to. You’d shake it right up!”

As if on cue, four pairs of eyes turn to look at Isak.

“Uh,” he utters, nonplussed. “Yeah, join us. If you’d like, I mean. We’re pretty boring, as I’m sure you can tell.”

Even chuckles, hair falling artfully into his eyes. “Sure, I’d love to. And besides, you could never bore me, Isak.”

 

 

 

  
The arm of the couch is pressing painfully into his spine, but this position gives him the best view and Isak doesn’t plan on moving. Even and Magnus are playing a game of FIFA, the latter screeching his head off every few seconds while Even just laughs, fingers flying over the buttons of the controller. He is sunshine embodied, Isak thinks. Everything about him just seems to glow.

“Dude,” Jonas whispers, sidling up to him and sticking his head of curls in Isak’s face. “You look _smitten_.”

Isak shoves his friend away and hopes his face isn’t flaming red. “Shut the fuck up.”

Shrugging, Jonas sits back and takes a huge bite out of a cold quesadilla. “For the record, I think he likes you too, you know.”

Isak turns his head around so fast that his neck seizes. He yelps in pain and clamps a hand over the spot, but before he can even start rubbing the cramp out, Even appears right next to him looking adorably concerned. Isak looks past Even’s arm just in time to see Magnus score – what a dirty player! –, Even’s controller lying abandoned on his seat.

“You okay? What happened?”

“I said something and he freaked out,” Jonas tells him, licking his fingers clean. “Got a crick in his neck. Happens a lot, don’t worry.”

Isak is just about to reassure Even that he’s fine when a gentle touch to the side of his neck, right next to where his fingers are, nearly causes his heart to burst right through his ribcage. The second Even adds a little bit of pressure, his own hand flops uselessly back onto his lap and he wills himself to stay calm.

“Is the pain here?”

“Yeah,” Isak croaks. Honestly, he doesn’t even feel the pain anymore.

At the first press of Even's fingers, Jonas chokes loudly on his spit and Magnus pauses the game, whirling around to see what’s going on. A gleeful, half-maniacal grin spreads across his face at the sight of Even carefully massaging the cramped muscle loose, and Isak can already imagine the incredulous look on Mahdi’s face.

When Isak gathers enough guts to look at Jonas, he sees his friend staring right back at him looking ridiculously smug. Fine, maybe Isak expected as much, but just because Even’s hell-bent on turning his neck into putty does not mean he has feelings for him. Jonas pulls out his phone and types something – moments later, Mahdi’s phone chimes and Magnus’ emits a weird shrill from where it’s stashed in his pocket. Isak feels his own phone buzzing against his hip but pointedly ignores it.

Mahdi snorts. “For the record, I agree with Jonas.”

“Me too,” Magnus says, then proceeds to throw Even’s controller over to Mahdi.

Jonas lifts an eyebrow pointedly, and to Isak’s horror, opens his mouth. “Hey, Even? Do you mind if I ask you a question? I need someone else’s opinion on this and I’ve already asked everyone else here, and you seem to know Isak well enough.”

The hand on Isak’s neck stills and Isak really wants to shove the three remaining quesadillas into Jonas’ mouth at once.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I’m trying to convince a friend of mine that Isak would be a great person to date,” Jonas says, the lie flowing so easily that Isak wonders if he’d practised this. “Just for fun though, they wouldn’t date each other even if they were the only two people left in the world.”

“What– _who?_ ” Isak can’t help but blurt.

“Linn,” Jonas replies smoothly. Isak rolls his eyes. “Anyway, Even. If you had to promote Isak, so to speak, what would you say?”

Even hums thoughtfully and Isak almost shivers when those talented fingers start gently kneading at his neck again. The cramp is already long gone, but Isak doesn’t want Even to stop.

“I’m not very good with words,” Even says with a laugh, “oftentimes they get jumbled up in my mind and they come out as such, especially when there are a lot of things I want to say. Maybe you should ask me to tell you why someone _shouldn't_ date Isak instead?”

Everyone else in the room seems to stop breathing. Magnus literally shuts off the TV to prevent the game from distracting him, and Mahdi almost trips over his own feet in his haste to rush over to the couch.

“Alright,” Jonas says. Isak swallows past the dry lump in his throat. “Why would someone not date my dear friend?”

At that, Even finally lets go of Isak’s neck. Isak misses the touch instantly. “I would say that there is no such reason.” Said so quietly that even Isak, seated right by Even’s hip, almost misses it.

The look that Jonas levels on him is victorious.

 

 

 

  
For years, ever since his undergrad days, Isak has dreamed of starting his clerkship rounds. There’s just something about them that makes Isak feel as though he’s actually on the road to achieving his dreams. Being in the hospital and learning through first-hand viewing and doing… it’s exhilarating, even if it is exhausting. With full-time work hours and the occasional weekend shift, Isak gets even less sleep than he used to in the first year and a half of medical school, but Isak isn’t about to complain yet. Maybe in a couple of months when he feels like an old pancake plastered to the grimy floor of a diner, but not yet.

It’s almost eight on a Thursday night and Isak is just getting home. His shoulders are aching – his bag, filled with books and his scrubs, have been weighing them down throughout his hour-long journey home. He’d missed the first bus and failed to get a seat on the second one, ending up squished between someone with really bad body odour and someone who has really bad balance. After a mad search of his keys, Isak slips it into his front door and twists it open, only to find that it’s already unlocked. Dread pools in his stomach. He always locks his door, even when he’s running late and despite the lack of expensive items inside. He’s really not in the mood to deal with a break-in right now, but Isak also really needs a shower.

The second he steps inside, he’s hit with the strong scent of butter, parsley, and lemon. That is closely followed by a bark.

Relief washes over Isak instantly. He’d forgotten that Even has a key to his apartment, what with the crazy day – no, week – that he’s had.

“Hey,” Even calls from the kitchen. “I got home an hour ago and you weren’t back yet, so I figured I’d whip up some dinner for the both of us. You’ve been really busy with your clerkship and knowing you, you haven’t been eating well.”

Isak drops his bag onto a chair, shrugs off his coat, and pads into the kitchen, where he finds Even standing by the small stove overseeing sautéd vegetables in a pan. Maisie trots over and gives Isak’s hand a slobbery lick when he reaches down to pet her.

“You really didn’t have to trouble yourself,” Isak says, leaning against the counter to watch Even cook. Maisie settles down by his feet, a warm and solid weight. “I eat enough, I swear.”

Even turns a critical eye on him. “There were so many empty take-out boxes in here when I came in and yet you look like you’ve lost weight. I made fish – good for your brain, right?” Even gives the pan a little jerk and Isak wonders if he would be overstepping any boundaries if he just stepped into Even’s space and hugged him.

“I’m, uh, gonna go take a quick shower.”

He gets a soft hum in response and the sound stays in his mind, warm, throughout the time he spends underneath the showerhead. He stays inside long enough for the water to run cool and for some of the tension in his shoulders to bleed out.

Drying off, Isak pulls on a pair of sweats and lets the towel hang around his shoulders.

“Just in time,” Even says, bending to pull the fish out of the oven. “I hope you like cod.”

It’s a simple – cod, vegetables, and a hearty serving of mashed potatoes, but Isak feels like he’s just been gifted with a seven-course meal at the most expensive restaurant in town. Everything smells heavenly and Isak can’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed when his stomach growls audibly.

“Eat,” Even laughs, sliding an empty plate over to him. “But be careful, it’s hot.”

A few feet away, Maisie happily tucks into her supper of steamed broccoli and carrots.

The first bite of cod melts in his mouth and Isak groans, savouring the flavours dancing across his taste buds. “This is amazing,” he mumbles through a mouthful, gesturing with his fork. Even simply smiles at him, eyes twinkling, and scoops up a dollop of mashed potatoes.

“Glad you like it. I could cook for you more often if you wanted?”

Isak shakes his head furiously, sending a few droplets of water running down his bare chest. “No, I can’t ask that of you. You’re my friend, not my caretaker. Besides, I’m sure you have responsibilities keeping you busy as well.”

“Friends care for each other, don’t they? And don’t worry about it, I just finished a project at work so I have a bit of downtime.”

“At least wait for me to come home so I can help,” Isak tries. “I don’t want you to do all the work.”

Even doesn’t seem to want to stop smiling at him. “You can do the dishes, how about that?”

It takes a lot of effort for Isak not to blush under that blue gaze. “Uh, yeah, that sounds fair.”

They eat, relaxed and enjoying each other’s company, the soft clinks of forks and spoons against plates interspersed with questions that Isak poses to Even about the progress of his personal project. He learns that Even had to put the film on hold during his relationship with Irena, mind too messy to focus on it. But during the past few weeks, Even has gone back to it, spending a couple of hours on his tablet every day, even if all he does is nitpick at the already finished frames.

“I want to be the first one to watch it,” Isak says boldly.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Not a single morsel remains on the plates when they finally set their cutlery down and sit back with satisfied expressions on their faces. Isak can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to come home to Even in his kitchen, cooking up a delicious, healthy meal just for him, on a regular basis.

He gets up to clear the dishes, half-worried that Even might try to help him. But Even lets him do it, although he does help to pile all the plates up before Isak takes them away. Maisie’s bowl is empty as well, the labrador herself looking close to dozing off.

Isak’s in the middle of filling up the sink with soapy water when he hears Even enter.

“You remember that art show I told you I wanted to do?”

“Oh yeah, paintings and drawings and all that, right?”

Even nods, hip resting on the edge of the counter as Isak drops the dishes in. “I think I might actually be able to make it happen. I don’t have enough pieces yet, but I did get in touch with someone who owns a gallery, and she’s willing to host a show for me when I’m ready.”

At the news, Isak nearly squeezes soapy water out of the sponge in his hand and all over his shirt. “That’s great, Even! Congrats; I’m really happy to hear that. It’s been one of your goals for a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” Even agrees, reaching over to take a washed plate out of Isak’s hands. He rinses the suds off and sets it on the drying rack. “Kinda nerve-wracking to think about it, honestly.”

“It’ll be amazing,” Isak tells him, deciding that it’s futile to stop Even from helping. “I just know it.”

When Even’s elbow digs gently into his arm and Isak glances up, it dawns on him that they’re standing really close to each other. Close enough for Isak to see the slight dusting of freckles across the bridge of Even’s nose, normally indiscernible under any form of direct light. He can’t help but let his gaze flicker down to Even’s lips, at the perfect height to plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. They’re plush, looking incredibly soft despite a faint dryness to them. He wonders what it would be like to –

“Isak?”

Embarrassment slams into Isak’s gut, almost leaving him breathless. There’s absolutely no way Even didn’t notice that he’d been staring at his mouth for a full five seconds, possibly (probably) more.

“Uh,” Isak says, voice hoarse and perhaps just a little shaky. He tries to refocus on the task at hand. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Even answers, somehow managing to continue rinsing the dishes while keeping his eyes on Isak. “But I’m going to ask you something right now, if that’s alright.”

For some reason, Isak starts to panic.

“Oh, I’ll definitely go to the show,” he blabbers. The sponge skids across the surface of a plate and sends suds flying out of the sink. “I’ll even drag the guys there if you don’t mind their presence. Magnus can be a little obnoxious in art galleries. Once, we went to –”

“Isak,” Even interrupts. A wet hand curls around Isak’s wrist and Isak drops the plate. “Can you look at me?”

Okay, he’s definitely panicking now. If his hands weren’t submerged in water, Isak thinks they’d be sweating.

It takes a monumental effort for him to look back up at Even’s face.

“Just one question,” Even says softly.

Isak barely manages to nod.

Then Even turns his entire body to face him, fingers leaving Isak’s wrist. He dries his hands on a dishtowel. Vaguely, Isak wonders if his own fingertips are pruning.

“Can I kiss you?”

For the longest time, Isak simply stares. Despite the immense weight of his question, Even seems abnormally calm, gazing back at him like he has all the time in the world to wait for Isak’s permission or lack thereof.

“You want to kiss me?” Isak eventually croaks.

Even’s lips curl into a lopsided smile. It tugs at Isak’s heart. “Yeah, if you’d let me.”

A few more breaths, then Isak opens his mouth to say, “I’d let you.”

At that, something lights up in those blue eyes. A hand (talented, gentle, elegant, Isak thinks) comes up to cup his jaw, fingers sliding into the locks of hair covering the base of his skull. Isak tries not to nuzzle into the touch, but it’s so hard not to when Even’s thumb brushes along the line of his cheekbone, almost reverently.

“What did you mean,” Isak blurts, “when you said that Irena wasn’t the only one?”

Even laughs quietly. His thumb continues stroking back and forth over Isak’s skin. “She wasn’t the only one in our relationship who failed to notice a perfect man standing right in front of her.”

See, Isak had an idea that Even was going to say that – call it powers of deduction –, but actually hearing the words coming out of Even’s mouth completely shatters his expectations in the best way possible.

In a moment of compulsion, Isak moves first. He closes the small gap between their faces, hands still in soapy water, and presses his lips against Even’s. Even kisses back without hesitation, mouth moving against Isak’s intently, seeking out the taste of the other man and memorizing the texture and feel of his lips. Another hand curls around Isak’s neck to keep his head in place, heel flush against his pulse point, and Isak wonders if Even can feel the manic trembling of his heart.

It starts off chaste and innocent, but when the tip of Even’s tongue skims across the seam of Isak’s lips, it becomes anything but. Even teases Isak’s mouth open, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth with the slightest pressure of teeth. He sucks on the curve of it until it’s peach-tender and apple-red, at which point Isak finally opens up and lets Even have him.

Isak fumbles with the faucet, whacking the back of his hands against metal many times before he manages to turn the water on and rinse them free of soap. He doesn’t bother drying them, choosing instead to fist his fingers in Even’s shirt and let the fabric soak up the wetness. Even doesn’t seem to mind, letting Isak grab at him and pull him impossibly closer while he focuses on licking deep into Isak’s mouth.

Then Even pulls back, but not far enough for Isak to miss his presence. A soft smile graces kiss-swollen lips, and Isak almost whimpers when Even drops a kiss on his left cheek, his right cheek, the hinge of his jaw, the spot behind his ear, before planting one last one on his mouth. When Even takes a breath and breaks their connection to lean their foreheads together, Isak has half a mind to chase after his lips for more.

“I don’t regret my time with Irena,” Even tells him, “because it made me realise just how much I wanted you. Ever since the day I adopted Maisie, I’ve wanted you.”

“Why me?”

“God, Isak. Why _not_ you?”

Never in his life could Isak have imagined that he would come undone by three simple words that were not ‘I love you’, but meant the same thing.

They finish the dishes – after a lot of distractions – and Even crowds Isak up against a wall, right next to the corkboard filled with his own drawings, for more kisses. Isak silently asks for more and Even gives him every single one he wants; it isn’t until they pull back for air that the lateness of the night hits them.

“I should go,” Even breathes into their shared air. “You have to get up early for your rounds tomorrow.”

“I do,” Isak agrees, but doesn’t let go of him.

They share another handful of kisses before Even peels himself away, giving Isak one last kiss to his forehead before picking up his bag of art supplies and calling out for Maisie.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Even asks, hopeful. “I can make dinner again.”

Isak’s fingers curl into the wall behind him. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll try to come home earlier.”

Reaching out, Even thumbs at his bottom lip. Isak kisses his fingertip.

“Maisie’s asleep,” Even chuckles, eyes flicking into the kitchen and spotting her curled up around her empty food bowl. “Can I leave her here for the night? I’ll come by tomorrow morning to get her.”

“Of course. My apartment is her apartment.”

Even manages to take two steps towards the door before Isak pulls him back in.

“My resolve is stretched thin as it is,” Even tells him between kisses. “I’m not gonna be able to leave if you act like this.”

While Isak can be very stubborn at times, he knows that it’s best for him if he tries to get some sleep. He will have a busy day tomorrow, like all of his days have been the past few weeks.

“Alright,” he sighs. “You can go.”

Even laughs, a bright, delightful sound that Isak instantly feels vibrating within his heart. “I’ll give you one more before I go. Think of it as the New Year’s kiss I’d thought about giving you but didn’t have the guts to.”

So Isak finds his face bracketed by loving hands once more, Even’s pink lips dipping down to gift him with his first ever New Year’s kiss.

 

 

 

  
When Isak finally deems himself mentally prepared to do so, he texts the boys with the news. As expected, his phone doesn’t stop pinging for minutes. They pry as many details as they can get out of him, and Isak stares at the screen of his phone in abject horror when they start tallying up how much each person owes the other. Just how many bets have they placed on him and Even?

Ugh, Isak really needs new friends.

 

 

 

  
They go on their first official date in the middle of March, when Isak gets a week off from clerkship duties. Up to that point, they’d simply spent their nights together in Isak’s apartment (Even’s is packed full of art supplies), cooking dinner or ordering in when they’re too lazy, and curling up on the couch with Netflix on. On Even’s birthday, they were both too tired to do anything but reheat leftovers and tumble into bed to cuddle, but not without a few mouthfuls of the cake Isak had bought on the way home. “It’s a wonderful birthday simply because I get to spend it with you,” Even had said, and Isak knew he wasn’t lying.

But they’ve never gone on an actual date, so while objectively unnecessary, it leaves Isak thrumming with excitement for days.

After a late breakfast of everything yummy and bad for them (Isak’s medical side seems to be out of commission for the day), Even takes both him and Maisie out to the park, where they spend an inordinate amount of time cuddling on a picnic blanket while Maisie entertains a bunch of children. It’s still cold out, but the sun whisks away some of the chill and keeps it from running bone-deep.

Isak looks on in poorly masked awe as Even sketches him from memory – he gets everything right, from the curve of his Cupid’s bow to the way his hair curls around the tops of his ears. He asks Even to draw himself next to the sketch of him and Even complies with another one of his breathtaking smiles.

When Even carefully tears the finished drawing out of his sketchbook and presents it to Isak, Isak stares at it for a full minute, watching as the sunlight spills over the rough surface of the paper and brings that extra burst of life into their faces. With the help of graphite, Isak can see for himself how they look at each other.

“You look at me like I look at you,” Isak mumbles, smoothing fingertips feather-light over the lines.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Isak doesn’t have to look to know that Even is, as always, smiling.

When Isak’s stomach starts growling, they dig into a couple of fat sandwiches that Even had made. They finish the meal with cut fruit because “you’re gonna be a doctor and that means I should start getting used to eating a lot of fruit.” Maisie gets a whole bunch of treats and she gobbles them all up before bounding off to play with her newfound friends.

“I don’t know what else you have planned for the day, but can we go shop for a frame?” Isak slides the drawing back into Even’s sketchbook to keep it safe. “I want to frame that.”

They end up stopping by an art store – Even takes the chance to stock up on a few things while Isak hems and haws over which frame to buy. Eventually, Maisie places her paw right next to a tastefully ornate frame and Isak decides to go with her choice.

They stroll through the streets, Maisie off her leash and secure between them, under their joined hands. Even brings them to a beach, void of people due to the weather, and asks if Isak would be willing to pose for some reference photographs.

“What are they for?” Isak asks, arranging himself on a rock while Even fiddles with a camera behind him.

“That short film I’m working on. I’m going to use these to draw some frames.”

Even ends up taking dozens of pictures – Isak perched on the rocks, Isak walking along the beach, Isak letting the water lap at the soles of his shoes. Sometimes Maisie joins him, but for the most part, she busies herself with digging multiple holes in the sand. The sun slips closer and closer to the horizon with each photograph taken, its light sweeping washes of pink, purple, and orange through the sky.

“What’s the film about?”

“It’s a love story,” Even answers, eyes twinkling in the dusky light. “Between two men, one of whom can’t seem to hold his breath underwater.”

Isak snorts, “I’ll have you know that my lung capacity is a little above average.”

Grinning, Even sets his camera aside and leans in for a kiss. “How do you know the movie is about us?”

“Lucky guess,” Isak mumbles, and pulls Even back in for more.

It’s past dinner time when they get home. Maisie plops down by her bowl, eyes fixed on the couple expectantly, and digs in with great gusto when Isak fills it up with food.

“You hungry?”

Isak hums, rolling out his shoulders as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck. “Not terribly, but I do want a warm shower. You mind if I take one real quick?”

Even waves him on. “I’ll take one too, head over after I’m done. I have a half-finished pizza in my fridge that we could just pop into the oven.”

It’s the perfect ending to the perfect day and Isak crosses the hallway excited for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

  
The pizza lies forgotten in the oven.

Isak’s sprawled out on the couch, flat on his stomach, with Even’s hands running up the sides of his bare torso and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Warmth floods up Isak’s spine as Even mouths up the length, dropping a kiss on each bump of vertebra until he gets to Isak’s nape. It’s been a long time coming, Isak supposes. He can’t speak for Even, but all the cuddling and making out on the couch can only last him for so long.

Tonight, making out has finally led to something more, and now Isak is enjoying the way Even sucks a bruise into the junction of his neck and shoulder. There are fingers in his hair, curled around a handful, and Isak momentarily wonders what it would feel like if Even simply _tugged_.

It’s quiet and easy, the way Isak turns around and settles astride Even’s lap, the way Isak kisses Even’s temple as large hands slide past the waistband of his sweats and fit around the modest curve of his ass. Clothes end up in a heap by the legs of the coffee table and hips meet, flush.

Even’s hands, a little rough from how much he uses them, provide just that little boost of friction they both so desperately need. Sweat sticks to skin in a thin film, Isak’s blunt nails digging into the sharp lines of Even’s shoulder as he presses his mouth, open, to Even’s forehead. In return, Even presses words of affection into Isak’s skin, drawn taut over the rapid rise and fall of his chest, right over his heart.

Pleasure surges through them like a cresting wave, peaking when Even’s thumb rubs just right and crashing with a final pull.

The afterglow is sticky and too hot for comfort, but they stay plastered to each other until exhaustion sets in.

“Shower and sleep?” Even mumbles, nosing along the line of Isak’s jaw.

“Sounds perfect.”

 

 

 

  
It’s summer again, but this time, Isak doesn’t have a summer break to look forward to. But that’s alright, because despite how busy he is – he’s a couple of weeks into his obstetrics clerkship –, Isak gets to go home to Even and Maisie. At some point last month, they’d decided to officially convert Even’s apartment into his art studio and have him move in with Isak after realizing just how much time he spends at Isak’s place. One of the first things they do is find a spot for the coffee machine on Isak’s kitchen counter.

So now, Isak comes home after a long day at the hospital to his boyfriend and their dog, all the stress he’d accumulated over the course of the day melting off his shoulders the second he steps through the door. In the morning, they’ll leave the apartment together, Isak heading to work while Even takes Maisie on her morning walk before doing the same. It’s wonderful, and Isak doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content.

There are days where he’ll wake up, early morning light creeping in through the gap between the yellow curtains in their bedroom, and Isak will gaze down at Even’s sleeping face and wonder if he’s actually there. It seems too good to be true, but when Isak reaches out and his fingertips come into contact with warm skin, he’s reassured that Even is really there next to him.

Jonas had dropped by for lunch back in May and Isak spent the entire time suffering under his friend’s constant _I told you so_ s. At least Jonas paid for his lunch – he said that it’s the least he can do, considering Isak won him almost two hundred dollars. For three times after that, Isak manages to use the very same excuse to weasel meals out of Magnus and Mahdi.

The corkboard on Isak’s wall finally fills up with drawings and Isak buys a new one that they hang up in Even’s studio. It doesn’t take long for that corkboard to start boasting art of its own, but this time, there’s a wider variety of faces. With Even introduced into his friend group, sketches of the other boys start making their way up on the board, and to Magnus’ delight, there is even a sketch of him and Vilde (drawn from a photograph).

Whenever Even draws or paints, Isak sits by the table and studies. He’ll take regular breaks just to give Even a kiss or two and make him drink some water, and oftentimes Even will make use of that time to ask Isak for his opinion. They’d both figured out early on that Even works and focuses better with Isak around, so it is not rare for them to spend whole weekends in the studio when Even has an approaching deadline. The short film comes along slowly but steadily, and while Even doesn’t want Isak to see it before it’s complete, he does end up showing Isak a frame or two whenever he’s feeling exceptionally proud of his work.

The first time Even draws his mother, Isak is there to watch the entire process. It’s a sweltering Sunday afternoon in June – at least the air conditioning in the apartment seems to work slightly better than last year – and Maisie is out in the hallway avoiding any traces of sunlight. Isak can hear her lazily playing with her squeaky ball.

Even’s arm is almost too warm where it’s pressed up against his own, but Isak doesn’t mind at all. When he starts hearing the familiar scratch of a pencil against paper, Isak tears his eyes off the television screen and glances over.

“Who’re you drawing?”

“My mother,” Even answers. The curve of her jaw fills out gently, graphite lines soft and loving. He looks up and smiles. “People say I have her eyes.”

“Yeah? Well, draw it and I’ll let you know if they’re right.”

Even draws a few more lines, roughly shaping her lips and the slope of her nose.

“Or you could just see her in person and judge that way?”

It’s a loaded question, delivered casually, but Isak doesn’t let it fly over his head. “In person?”

A few more lines – the outline of her eyes and crow’s feet –, then Even is setting the pencil down and pulling his bottom lip through his teeth.

“Yeah, uh, I told her about you, and she wants to meet you. Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

Isak lets that sink in. He’s quiet for a while, staring at his bottle of beer as his thumb swipes through cold droplets of condensation. Not wanting to place unnecessary pressure on him, Even returns to his sketch. Isak watches as the details of an eye start coming in.

“Okay, but do you –” His voice is rough, sandpapery, and he pauses to clear his throat. “Do you think she’ll like me?”

The sketchbook and pencil are placed aside instantly and Even fits his hands on either side of Isak’s neck, just the way he knows Isak loves it.

“I think she’ll love you.”

At that, Isak tries and fails to hide his smile.

Later that night, Isak lies awake and matches his breaths with Even’s steady ones. He thinks about his own mother – even before she started showing symptoms of schizophrenia, the topic of homosexuality never set well with her. Her approval always mattered more than his father’s, and it had taken a lot of courage for Isak to come out to her. Her views battled with her love for Isak, but she could never really come to a compromise. It didn’t take long for Isak to learn that he should start pretending he never came out in the first place.

She remembers, Isak knows. But he pretends for her sake.

He’d told his father – out of familial courtesy during one of their occasional phone calls – of his relationship with Even, but he’s been fighting a long, drawn-out internal battle with telling his mother.

Turning over onto his side, he stares at the fan of Even’s lashes against the faint shadows beneath his eyes and resists the urge to kiss him. He’ll tell his mother soon. Even deserves that much – he’ll deal with the consequences himself, whatever they may be.

That decided, Isak shuts his eyes and shifts closer to Even’s warmth. He follows the rhythm of Even’s breathing and lets it lull him to sleep.

 

 

 

  
“Happy birthday!” Even sing-songs, walking into the apartment with a large cake in his hands, Maisie nipping excitedly at his heels.

Isak is twenty-seven today, and all of his closest friends have made time in their busy schedules to celebrate with him. They’ve made it very clear to him that if it wasn’t for Even, most of them wouldn’t be here. His boyfriend had planned everything well in advance, giving them ample notice just so they could do their best to make it tonight. Somehow, Even managed to get ahold of Eskild, Eva, Vilde, and Sana – Noora was the only one unable to make it, stuck in the middle of a huge project at work.

The cherry atop the sundae? Even’s parents had sent Isak a birthday gift of his own stethoscope engraved with his name – Isak still can’t decide if he wants to use it or keep it pristine.

“You found yourself a good one,” Eva comments, watching as Even sets the cake down on the table and sticks a few candles into the centre. They haven’t seen each other for a while, but they have a group chat with a whole bunch of people from their high school graduating class, and they've all kept the chat alive enough to know what was going on in each other’s lives. Isak remembers sending a selfie of himself and Even to the chat – the girls spent much too long lamenting their poor luck.

“Yeah,” Isak says, smiling when Even oh-so-carefully lights a match and brings the flame to the candle wicks. “He is pretty great.”

Sana settles down into the seat on Isak’s other side. “I’m happy you finally decided to date,” she says. Isak is glad to see that her love for striking lipsticks is still present. “He’s good for you; I know how hard you like to work; his presence in your life is a needed one.”

“How is it that everyone falls a little in love with Even the second they meet him?”

“It’s easy to,” Sana shrugs, then she’s smacking him on the arm and gesturing towards the cake. “Make a wish, birthday boy.”

Isak glances around the room at his friends. Magnus has Vilde tucked into his side (he can’t stop the little spark of glee that speeds through his veins when he looks at them, remembering the engagement ring designs Magnus had sent to both him and Even a few weeks ago, begging for their opinions), Mahdi is trying to sneak a scoop of frosting, Eskild is hanging off of Even’s arm, and Jonas is fiddling with a streamer that had fallen off the wall. Even – sweet, loving, _perfect_ Even – is gazing right back at him, electric eyes bright with affection.

What is there to wish for when he has everything that he could ask for?

Closing his eyes, Isak leans in and counts to three before blowing out his candles. His friends whoop and applaud, and Isak grins.

It’s almost midnight when his friends take their leave, weighed down with cake and wine and laughter. Isak hugs every single one of them and even lets Eskild give me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Hey.” Isak glances up from where he’s shoving a pile of paper plates into a garbage bag. Even’s leaning against the doorframe, the TV remote in his hands. “Do that later. I want to give you your birthday present.”

Isak likes presents. He follows Even back into the living room and takes a seat when Even gestures for him to. There’s something on the TV, paused, and Isak tilts his head.

“What’s this?”

“It’s the trailer for my animated short film.”

His heart skips a beat. “Our movie?”

Even answers with a smile.

Then it starts playing and Isak watches, enraptured.

It’s not a long trailer, barely a minute long, but Isak’s chest is close to bursting by the time it ends. Objectively, there are barely any indications that it’s a love story, save for the one scene where two silhouettes are side-by-side on a bench, holding hands. There’s also a scene of them in the water, facing each other, but Isak barely had time to take it in before it moved on. But Isak loves it wholeheartedly, loves what it means, because Even had put in so much time and effort into something that represents their relationship.

He’s a little surprised to feel a slight burn behind his eyes. There’s so much pressure in his chest that Isak can’t hold it back anymore, can’t keep it stuffed down inside, cant – “I love you,” he blurts.

Nervousness flits through him when he turns to look at Even, but all traces instantly vanish at the pure adoration he sees in Even’s, well, entire being. It’s in his eyes, his smile, the way he reaches out to slide a hand into Isak’s hair. It’s even in the way he takes a breath just to say Isak’s name. It’s definitely in his voice, the way his tongue curls around the syllables of _I love you too, Isak_.

Then he’s leaning in and Isak’s kissing the same pair of lips he’s been kissing for months. It feels the same, except it doesn’t at all. Isak loves it.

“Happy birthday,” Even whispers, “can’t wait to celebrate more of them with you.”

“Thank you for being you.” The back of Isak’s fingers skim down the line of Even’s jaw. “For loving me. You’re the man of my dreams.”

Even kisses him again. And again, and again, and again. Somehow, Isak knows he’ll never stop.

**Author's Note:**

> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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